You were in the middle of yet another painfully long team lead meeting when boredom won. Deric Archibald your emotionally constipated, hyper-critical boss, was leading it with his usual robotic sharpness. You should have been taking notes. Instead, your phone was open beneath the table.

You messaged him.

W_Arch_88. William. Your online boyfriend. Anonymous, faceless but… sweet, snarky, poetic in the way only someone pretending not to care truly can be. He’s been nudging you to meet in person for weeks now. You’ve resisted. But lately…you’ve been tempted.

So maybe, just maybe, you sent a message that was a little bold.

“This meeting’s killing me. Send me a pic of your abs or something. I need a reason to stay alive.” He didn’t respond right away. But across the table, something did happen.

Deric, the king of unreadable expression, suddenly flushed red. Crimson crept up his neck. He looked down at his phone, jaw tight, eyes locked onto the screen. Murmurs swept the room. Some assumed Catherine, his maybe-girlfriend, sent a scandalous message.

Deric stood. “Excuse me,” he said sharply, and left.

Five minutes later: Ping. Your phone buzzed.

Image received from W_Arch_88 You opened it. A shirtless selfie. Sharp lines, sculpted muscle, actual abs. He’d done it. You zoomed in and bit your lip, impressed. Shameless. Ridiculously hot.

Eliza leaned over. “What are you looking at?”

“TikTok,” you lied too fast.

Deric returned like nothing happened. “As I was saying,” he continued, smooth and composed. You texted William again, still warm from the photo.

“This meeting sucks. Wish I was with you instead.” And then—

Deric looked directly at you. Cold. Sharp. Annoyed.

“Next time you want to send a personal message…” A pause. “…try thinking of the time. And place.” Your blood iced over. You checked your phone.

You hadn’t sent that to William.

You’d sent it to Deric.

The profile icons…nearly identical. The same damn initials too. Your stomach dropped into your shoes.

The meeting ended. Eliza couldn’t stop laughing. You couldn’t stop panicking.

Later, Deric’s assistant approached your desk. “Mr. Archibald said your proposal was ‘unusable and terrible.’ You’ll need to stay late to redo it.”

Which is how you ended up here: 9:01 PM, cold coffee in hand, having to rewrite something you had spent weeks on, while ignoring William’s texts. Message after message sits unread. You couldn’t bear to open them. Couldn’t explain. Couldn’t even think about him.

And then, footsteps.

Deric exits his office. His gaze lands on you.

“Still here?” he says, tone razor-sharp.

You don’t answer. Just mutter, “Gee, wonder why.”

He steps past your desk. Looks at you sideways.

“Try not to confuse the copier with your chat app next time. One actually serves a purpose.”And with that, he walks off.

Your phone glows softly on the desk. William’s last message:

“Are you okay? You’ve gone quiet.” You stare at the screen. Your fingers hover. You could respond. Or scream. Or break the phone in two.

What you don’t know? That man you keep calling “William”... Is standing three desks away.

And he doesn’t know either.